


Prettiest Piece in the Whole Damn Museum

by pure1magination



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Coming Out, M/M, Making Out, Museums, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw this post on tumblr and I couldn't help myself.</p>
<p>sadcuteprincess:<br/>Take me to an art museum and fuck me in the bathroom</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prettiest Piece in the Whole Damn Museum

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Боже, храни Америку!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6484738) by [minty_mix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minty_mix/pseuds/minty_mix)



Bucky had never been the biggest fan of art museums. He was really more of an air-and-space museum kinda guy. But when Steve Rogers gave him that earnest, pleading look, and said "It'll be good for you," there was no way Bucky could turn him down.

So here they were, standing in the cool, dry air, staring at probably the twentieth watercolor painting in a row. And Bucky was bored as fuck. 

Yes, the paintings were beautiful, but he could only look at so many soft, soulful renditions of water lilies before his mind started to wander. Honestly, the tight white shirt Steve was wearing was  _far_ more interesting to look at than the twenty-somethingth picture of a peaceful public park in spring. The cold air was making two points stand out through the fabric. "Isn't this one beautiful, Buck?"

Bucky practically jumped in surprise at Steve's voice in the quiet room, silent except for the soft classical music playing in the background. He glanced at the painting. "Yeah!" he agreed with a forced smile. "It's great!"

Steve was so preoccupied with the painting, he didn't even notice Bucky's smile was fake. He went on to describe the beauty of the style, and elaborate on certain details, but Bucky lost interest almost the second Steve opened his mouth. Instead, he found himself focusing on the warm, familiar timbre of Steve's voice, admiring the way his eyes lit up, watching the curve of his lower lip shift and stretch as he spoke. Bucky nodded whenever Steve met his eyes expectantly, but soon after his eyes drifted back to Steve's eyelashes, or his hands, or his neck... He almost felt bad about not caring about the art, but there was a very corny voice inside of him that wanted to say Steve was the most beautiful piece of art in the whole damn building.

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief when they finally moved into the next room. Gone were the watercolors; now they were into acrylic paint. There was a wide variety of styles and color schemes- Bucky found himself admiring a couple of paintings that were predominantly red, one in particular which depicted a robust woman in a dynamic pose, half-dressed, her pearl necklace being ripped from her neck, beads flying everywhere. There was a demon thing in the background too. He also liked the painting of the silhouette of a ship sailing into the sunset. The battle scenes, he wasn't so crazy about.

The thing with going to an art museum with Steve, as it turned out, wasn't that Bucky didn't like art, because he did. He loved watching Steve draw, or being drawn by Steve when Steve didn't think Bucky noticed. He  _did_ admire the time and creativity that went into these pieces, he  _did_ feel the emotions some of them were meant to elicit.

But the thing was, Bucky had his fill of staring at a painting after about ten seconds.  _Maybe_ fifteen.

Steve could stare at the same painting for  _hours._

The only reason they were moving through the art museum at all was because Bucky would urge Steve subtly to move from painting to painting, with a nudge or a tug, or even a glance, and every goddamn time, Steve would smile guiltily and blush. 

Bucky could never have scraped up the patience to paint any of these. He could perch somewhere uncomfortable for hours with his finger on the trigger, but sniping a target was so vastly different than sitting in front of a blank canvas and letting one's imagination spill out.

He'd seen Steve do it. Steve would deny he's anything but an amateur, or a hobbyist, but Bucky would swear up and down that Steve's art would be right at home next to Van Gogh or Boticelli. Steve denied it every time, but that's part of what made Steve  _Steve._ And Bucky loved every inch of him.

"What do you think of this one, Buck?" Steve indicated a painting of a newly wed couple having their first waltz. The woman's face was tucked shyly away towards the man's shoulder, and the man was beaming, but also looked scared. Something about the way the light hit his eyes...

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. "I like it."

Steve frowned and backed up half a step. "You  _like_ it?" Steve replied quizzically.

Bucky knew that tone. If he didn't elaborate, Steve was going to gush about this painting for  _paragraphs._ "I mean," Bucky said, scraping his mind for plausible bullshit, "I like the lighting. And the.. general  _feel_ of it. It's very light-hearted. Reminds me of dancing, back in the '30s."

This answer seemed to satisfy Steve. In fact, a deep, nostalgic light shone in his eyes. "You remember..?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and jabbed Steve gently with his elbow. "'Course I remember. Just like I remember  _you_ never danced." Bucky walked them casually to the next painting.

But of course, Steve still wanted to talk about the last one. "Only because  _you_ stole all the girls."

Bucky scoffed. " _Stole_ them?"

The tips of Steve's ears reddened. "Yeah. They took one look at you and didn't even notice I was standing there."

Bucky turned serious. "Steve.."

But Steve was looking at another painting. "Don't try to deny it, Buck. You know they were never interested in me."

"Yeah," Bucky muttered, "'Cause they had no taste.."

"Don't say that," Steve objected softly, staring at the painting. "They looked at  _you._ "

"Looked at me when they shoulda been lookin' at you..." Bucky said very quietly. When Steve glanced at him questioningly, Bucky just walked to the next painting and pretended to be interested in it. "'Course, that's not really a problem for you anymore, is it."

He could practically  _feel_ Steve blush.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. "Turning into a national icon certainly has its perks," he quipped.

"Yeah? Bet you've had  _tons_ of perks. Tell me, how many of those 'perks'  _have_ you slept with?"

"Buck-"

"-Ten?  _Twenty_ thousand? And don't think for one moment that I'm gonna believe you never slept with any of those show girls, Stevie, I know you toured with those USO girls. C'mon. You had to have had _some_ fun backstage."

"Buck!"

"Not to mention Peggy Carter, Natasha Romanov, and that 'perky' neighbor of yours, Sharon Carter. Don't think I haven't noticed. You probably slept with all of them."

"Buck!" Steve hissed, his sharp voice ricocheting off the hard walls of the otherwise empty room. 

Bucky held his hands up- gloved, as always, because wearing just one glove was even  _more_ suspicious than wearing both. "Alright, fine, you don't wanna talk about it." Bucky forced a casual lilt into his voice like the bitterness didn't matter. He walked to the next painting. 

"We are in  _public,_ " Steve hissed.

"Never stopped you before."

"What's  _that_ supposed to mean?"

Bucky turned his head away and pretended to stare at a painting across the room. "Nothing, Steve. Okay?  _Nothing._ "

Steve crossed his arms over his formidable chest. Bucky remembered when that chest was so small, he could wrap both arms around it and meet his hands to his elbows. So much more than ribs now.. Steve glowered at him. "I don't know what made you think airing my sex life was okay," Steve said in a dangerous low voice, like an approaching thunderstorm- that voice gave Bucky chills- "but  _for your information,_ I slept with  _none_ of them."

Bucky glanced up from Steve's chest for a moment. "None of them?" he echoed, bitterness ebbing away and leaving him oddly light.

Steve's jaw set. "In fact," Steve continued, "Other than kissing, I have done  _nothing_ with  _anybody_."

Bucky didn't want to take time to explore why that made him feel so dizzy. He tore his eyes away from Steve and muttered something under his breath in Russian.

"What was that?"

Bucky sighed. "I said I'm sorry." He turned his back and stared at a painting, arms crossed.

Steve didn't say anything, just glowered at the painting next to him.

Bucky couldn't take the tension radiating off of Steve. "..I'll be in the next room." He left without glancing to see if Steve would follow.

The next room was full of more paintings, but also sculptures. Most of these sculptures were nude. Bucky was very,  _very_ tempted to touch them, but there were glass cases or guide ropes protecting them, and Bucky wasn't in a hurry to draw attention to himself and get kicked out of the museum. Plus the staff had been giving him weird looks since he walked in; probably should've shaved this morning or worn a less ratty coat. Oh well. He'd come in with Captain America; that granted him certain liberties.

He was contemplating a statue of a naked woman- all right, staring at the curve of her naked breast- when Steve walked in. Steve didn't say anything, just turned his back and stared at the first piece hanging on the wall.

Bucky completely lost interest in the sculptures and sidled up to his own, personal sculpture. "Nice painting, huh?"

Steve raised an eyebrow at him, silently voicing that 'nice' was an understatement.

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah," Bucky agreed with himself. "Nice." He kept glancing at Steve.

Steve remained silent.

Bucky sighed and played with his fingers in his hoodie pocket. It was still weird that he couldn't feel the fingers on one hand. They moved naturally, and he could feel them with his  _other_ hand, but it was so odd that he could feel one hand and not the other. One would think, after having the metal arm for so long, he'd just take it for granted. And most of the time he did. But there were still these moments when it felt so  _surreal_. 

Steve moved on to the next painting.

Waiting for Steve to move through the gallery was like waiting for molasses to pour in winter when their radiator broke and they had to rely on coats and blankets for warmth. The liquid would pour slowly, agonizingly out of the bottle, tantalizing its viewers with its sweet smell, and yet the damn stuff was barely moving. The thick ribbon of amber liquid would dribble, a fraction of an inch at a time, all the while reminding them of how hungry they were and how they wished they could afford another sweetener, of how long it had been since they'd had a proper meal, and all the while Steve would pour the bottle patiently, and Bucky would worry about what this weather was going to do to Steve.

But it was spring, and Steve hadn't gotten sick once since taking the serum.

Instead, he'd turned into a brick wall of health. That idiot pushed his body past its limits on a daily basis, and yet he healed every fucking time. Steve had broken so many bones, had so many bruises, been cut  _so many times_ , and yet no matter how badly Steve was injured, within a few days, he was fine.

This had terrified Bucky at first, back during the war. It was only then that he realized he'd always seen himself as Steve's protector, and the sinking, churning in his gut had informed him that Steve no longer needed a protector. He'd also realized, in that short span of time, that he was no longer the only one who saw Steve for what he was worth. Peggy had seen it all along. And the others- they hadn't known him when he was small and sick, but they all looked up to him like he was the sun. Bucky was nothing more than a sidekick. And he'd hated having the spotlight stolen from him. He'd hated all the attention Steve had gotten. He'd been so used to being the most handsome looker in the room, been so used to getting all the glory, and this blond twig had suddenly broken out of his chrysalis, a full-blown Adonis, and everyone wanted a piece of him.

The worst part of it was, Bucky had realized that all along he'd kind of taken Steve for granted. He'd never known why Steve stuck to him all those years, always known deep down that Steve was the better man, and now that Steve's outside matched what his inside had always been, everyone was seeing Steve the way he  _should_ have been seen all along, and Bucky didn't want them to. He'd grown so used to the idea that Steve was  _his_ pain in the ass, for better or worse. Steve was like his precious, hidden secret, because he was the  _only one_ who really knew him, and Steve-- Steve was a helluva guy.

But now  _everyone_ knew that.

The guy had friggin' comic books written about him. Action figures, t.v. shows, radio broadcasts, posters, t-shirts, you name it. 

And what did Bucky have? A ghost story.

He didn't even exist.

Bucky Barnes existed, or the two-dimensional sidekick version of him anyway, in that display at the Smithsonian which didn't even  _begin_ to explain the complexities of their relationship.

The Winter Soldier existed, in hidden files somewhere that only half a dozen people ever spoke about.

But if it weren't for Steve... Bucky wouldn't even be here right now. He'd be a page in a history book- not even a page, probably just a paragraph- overshadowed by the sheer legend that was his best friend since childhood, Captain-fucking-America.

That was the other thing that bothered Bucky-- everyone saw Steve for the larger-than-life legend he'd become. Sure, most of his friends- Natasha and Sam and the rest- saw Steve as an actual  _person_ , but Steve was a celebrity now, even moreso than he'd been back in the day, and everywhere he went, his legend followed him like a huge neon sign.

Sometimes Bucky wished Steve had never taken the serum, that he was still small, but he knows that's selfish. He would love to hold the little guy in his arms just one more time, calm those shivering bones with his solid warmth just one more time, shield him from the howling wind outside, bury his lips in his soft blond hair, pretend the pulsing against Steve's lower back was just random and had nothing to do with wanting to run his hands down those pale sides, those sharp edges, wanting to open his mouth against every dip and curve and drink in his skin like honey... He'd done his best to push away those thoughts, like Steve's pastor said. He'd tried to be a good Christian. But he'd lost his faith long ago. Left it with the shells on the battlefield.

He'd never been as good of a man as Steve, and never would be. Steve was the pinnacle of morality. He was the strength that calmed Bucky's storm, the beacon guiding him home. He was-- staring at that statue with parted lips and darkening pupils and looked deliciously sinful as hell.

Bucky held his breath as Steve's eyes swept up and down the sculpted curves of the woman. He was surprised; he'd never pegged Steve as having a thing for women that curvy. But there was no denying the warm glow sitting high on Steve's cheekbones, or the two points pushing against the fabric of Steve's white cotton shirt. 

What floored Bucky even  _more_ was when Steve's eyes swept over the figure of the  _man._ His baby blues lingered on the chest muscles, the abdominals, the thighs-- "Like what you see?" Bucky murmured, stepping closer.

Steve gasped softly. "It's... It's beautiful," he replied quietly.

"It is," Bucky agreed, subtly letting his arm rest against Steve's, just enough to feel his warmth. Steve was the warm one now. Bucky lowered his voice and leaned a bit closer. "What do you like most about it?"

Steve's throat bobbed. "The.." Steve shook his head slightly. "It's just so beautiful." He licked his lips. "So..  _lifelike_."

Bucky held back a moan. Steve's tone was so husky. "Didn't know you had a thing for sculptures."

Steve's face turned crimson. "I just really.. like.. good art."

"Good?" Bucky raised his eyebrows. "That's  _amazing._ They managed to get that texture out of  _marble?_  Damn! It must've taken them  _months!"_

Steve choked off a quiet sound, mouth hanging open. "Yeah," he agreed in a throaty voice.

Bucky trailed his fingers down Steve's arm. "I wonder how they managed to do that with models..."

"M-must've  _memorized_ them," Steve replied, breathy.

"Hmmm," Bucky hummed. "Sure wouldn't mind memorizing a body like  _that_." He blatantly ogled Steve's torso.

Steve laughed quietly. "Like what, hers?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows, took half a step closer, and trailed his fingers from between Steve's pectorals, down the center of his abdomen, resting just above the waistline to his pants, where he flattened out his hand. "Yeah," he said, not meaning it at all.

Steve's eyelids fluttered and he sluggishly met Bucky's gaze.

Bucky's lips crawled up into a smile. "Sure is a beaut."

Steve searched Bucky's face. "Sure is."

Bucky leaned a little closer, then pulled away. "Wouldn't mind memorizing  _him_ , either," Bucky threw casually over his shoulder, walking around the other side of the display.

Steve looked as though he'd been struck by lightning. "Buck.."

Bucky tried his best to ignore Steve and stared at the statue instead. It wasn't nearly as appealing. But he pretended it was anyway. "What, just appreciating male beauty."

Steve faltered. "..Right." He played with his fingers. "Yeah." He looked down.

"C'mon, like you've never looked at a guy before and admitted he was pretty. We've all done it, Stevie. Doesn't make us queer," Bucky lied through his teeth.

Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his fitted blue jeans. Ohhhh, so fitted. "..Buck?"

Bucky glanced at him as casually as he could. "Yeah?"

Steve chewed on that deliriously full, pink lower lip and stared at the ground. "Being queer... It ain't-- it ain't so bad anymore, Buck.."

Bucky steeled himself. "What do you mean?"

Steve's chest puffed out with a sigh. He shuffled his feet. His cheeks turned pink. "I mean.. There's been all kindsa civil rights movements, and.. People that are attracted to the same gender.. it-- it's not so bad for them, anymore..."

Bucky barked out an incredulous laugh. "What, so you're saying it's okay? That just because we skipped a few years, suddenly being in love with another guy is okay?"

Steve's eyes snapped up to meet Bucky's. He could practically see Steve's mind racing behind those big blue eyes. "You--?" Steve started, but cut himself off. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "..You have something against queers?"

"Nah," Bucky said casually. "Once you've stared death in the face, how people get their kicks doesn't matter so much anymore."

"So, you.." Steve started but paused. He shuffled again. "...It wouldn't matter? If... if I was queer?"

Bucky could practically  _hear_ his heart screeching to a halt and tripping over itself in the resulting crash. "What?"

Steve smiled sheepishly and looked down, face red. His eyebrows were knit with worry.

"Who ya got feelings for is none'a my business, Stevie," Bucky heard himself say. "Ya love who ya love."

Steve met his eyes again, something intense and unspoken, and-- _Oh._ "You mean that?"

"Sure I do," Bucky said hollowly, hoping against hope.

"So you wouldn't mind if I..." Steve broke eye contact again and cupped the back of his own neck, smiling ruefully. "-had feelings for someone?"

"Course not!" Bucky blurted out even though in retrospect, he didn't mean that at all. He could feel his smile straining.

Steve backed up a half step, eyes darting over Bucky's face. "-It bothers you, doesn't it." Something cracked in Steve's expression. 

"No, no!" Bucky held his hands up. "It's just, I-- wasn't expecting it. It's gonna take a while to sink in."

"Oh." Steve's shoulders sagged in relief. He gave Bucky an odd little smile and held out his hand. "So.. friends?"

Bucky swallowed. He met Steve's large, warm hand with his own flesh hand, glad for the glove between them. "Friends." They clasped hands for slightly too long.

Their eyes met.

Bucky broke eye contact and pulled his hand away. "So, uh. How long have you known?" 

"Since 1937."

Bucky snorted. "Why that particular year?"

He felt Steve's eyes on him. "That's the first time I realized what those feelings meant." But when Bucky looked, Steve's attention was focused on a painting.

"No one ever explained the birds and the bees?" Bucky teased.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Yes, but they never explained the  _bees_ and the bees."

Bucky snorted. "That why you never slept with the chorus girls?"

"No," Steve admitted. "It's not that I... never felt that way about women, because I have. It's just.. I've felt that way about men, too."

"Anyone I should know about?" Bucky joked.

Steve fell oddly silent. He seemed to be working through how much to tell. "I'm not seeing anyone, if that's what you're asking."

"Yeah, but just because you're not  _seeing_ anyone doesn't mean you don't got your  _eye_ on someone, Stevie." Bucky really wished he'd stop digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole.

Steve chuckled. "All right," Steve allowed. "There might be someone. But I doubt he feels the same."

He. It was a 'he'. "Yeah?"

Steve glanced at him. "Yeah."

After a silence that stretched so long, Bucky knew he'd hate this song if he ever heard it again, stupid optimistically tinkling piano, Steve finally added, "Don't think he ever did."

"Been carrying a torch for a while there, huh?" Bucky joked.

Steve's expression turned cryptic. He remained silent.

Bucky wished he'd brought one of his knives with him so he could repeatedly stab himself with it. He clapped Steve on the back. "Well hey, no hard feelings." He offered a strained smile. "If that guy is worth you crushing on him, he must be one helluva guy."

Steve looked at the ground with a sad little smile. "He is."

"And if he doesn't like you back, then he's not worth your time."

Steve met his eyes. That heavy, unspoken thing floated between them again. "That's where you're wrong," Steve said after a pause. "He will  _always_ be worth my time. Even-  _especially_ \- when he doesn't think he's worth it."

Bucky's traitorous heart fluttered. He glanced from Steve's serious eyebrows to Steve's serious mouth. "Guy's got depression issues?"

"Among other things." Steve stepped closer. "But that's never stopped me from seeing him as anything less than wonderful."

Bucky attempted to laugh, but it came out weird. "Well what're you telling  _me_ for? Go tell  _him._ "

Steve's mouth tipped up on one side ruefully. "I just did."

Bucky's eyes snapped up to meet Steve's. His mouth fell open with a pop. Steve just waited for this to sink in.

"How long did you say you've been carrying a torch for this guy?"

"Since 1924."

"But you said.. 1937..."

"-is when I  _realized_ it."

"It took you thirteen fucking years to realize it?"

"No." Steve was crowding him against a wall. "I've always known I  _loved_ you. In 1937, I realized I  _wanted_ you, too." Steve's mouth was looming closer.

Bucky was about ready to faint. "Well I beat you to it then." He swallowed. "I realized it in 1931..."

"Realized what?" Those soul-searching blue eyes were watching him earnestly.

"What do you think, ya stupid punk?"

Steve exhaled and drew closer. "That you're attracted to guys...?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbed Steve's face, and kissed him. 

Steve made an adorable surprised sound, but one second later, he was pressing Bucky against the wall from shoulder to thigh, his lips were parting, and his tongue was delving into Bucky's mouth, hot and slick. Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around Steve's neck and shoved his tongue as far in Steve's mouth as it could go. He needed desperately to map out every inch of that mouth. Steve seemed to feel the same. Their tongues stroked and searched, rubbing deliriously against each other as Steve pressed Bucky against the wall, breaths getting shorter, arms tugging each other closer and closer. _  
_

They were interrupted by a delicate cough.

Steve broke his mouth away abruptly, eyes wide and unfocused, hair mussed, chin shining with spit, and regarded the intruder with surprise, as though somehow, adorably, he'd forgotten they were out in public.

The little old lady simply straightened her glasses, raised her eyebrows, and turned to look at a display.

Bucky tugged Steve closer and whispered "bathroom" hoarsely into his ear.

Steve groaned.

He disentangled them from the wall, grabbed Bucky's hand, and rushed through the display rooms like they were on fire. He ignored any and all reactions they were getting and, upon locating the blessed men's room door, pulled Bucky into the handicapped stall, locked the door behind them, and hurriedly pressed Bucky up against the cool tile wall. Bucky groaned into Steve's open mouth when he felt that unmistakable hardness press against his lower stomach. The moan only spurred Steve on further. His hands wandered feverishly over Bucky's sides, rucking up Bucky's shirt beneath his pullover hoodie. Steve's tongue was burning hot in his mouth, his lips pressing and tugging possessively. Bucky's hands trailed down the curve of Steve's back. When they rested on those perfect twin buttocks, Steve moaned heatedly and broke away to start sucking on Bucky's neck. Bucky's eyes unfocused deliriously. He was gonna make some quip about 'what're you gonna do, fuck me in the bathroom?' when he decided he was one-hundred-percent a-okay with that.

Steve pressed their hips together and thrusted against Bucky's inner thigh. Bucky let out a loud, unholy moan. Steve sucked harder on his neck.  _"Steve!"_ Bucky whispered. Steve nipped at the spot he'd just sucked and started another suction at the junction of Bucky's neck and shoulder. Bucky's eyes crossed. That was it. He was done for. He thrusted his hips feverishly against Steve's warm, solid thigh, desperate for friction. Steve reached up under Bucky's shirt and tweaked both his nipples. "Ah, fuck!  _Steve!"_ Steve thrusted harder. Bucky thrusted harder.

"Wanna fuck you against the wall," Steve whispered heatedly against Bucky's ear.

"Oh  _fuck!"_  

Steve bit down on Bucky's shoulder. "Wanna hear you scream."

_"Auh!"_

Steve re-captured Bucky's mouth and kissed him like he was dying for it. Bucky helplessly rocked against Steve's thigh. "-'m gonna come, Steve," Bucky moaned, "'m gonna come!"

"Not yet you're not." Steve backed away and fucking  _knelt on the bathroom floor._ He licked his lips and poised his hands at the button to Bucky's jeans. "Been wanting to do this for  _decades._ " But he paused to look up at Bucky for permission.

"Fuck," Bucky whispered. 

Steve loomed closer. Bucky could feel his hot breath on his crotch. "But I won't unless you want me to."

"What the fuck are you waiting for?"

An impish grin lit up Steve's features. And fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing Bucky had ever seen. Steve tugged open Bucky's pants and kissed along the V leading down to his leaking erection, leaving a trail of pink marks in his wake. Just when Bucky didn't think he could take one more second of Steve  _not_ touching his dick, Steve engulfed half of it in his mouth in one go.

Bucky's eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped open. "Oh  _god._ "

Steve ran his hot tongue over him torturously slowly. Gently, he traced his soft tongue up the underside of the head. Slowly, gently, he bobbed his head up and down, up and down, one hand gripping the base and stroking along with him.

"Fuck!  _Fuck!_ Steve,  _fuck!"_

Steve's voice rumbled low, sending pleasant vibrations along Bucky's dick. Steve added a little more suction and bobbed his head faster. But it still wasn't enough. Bucky grabbed Steve's hair with both hands and tugged him closer, fucking into his mouth. Steve snorted and went right along with him, sucking harder, letting Bucky control the rhythm until-- "Steve!  _Steve_ I'm gonna-- ah--  _Auh!"_ but Steve didn't back away. Steve swallowed every hot burst that gushed down his throat. Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd come this hard.

Once the orgasm had faded, Bucky's hands fell limply from the sides of Steve's head, and it was all he could do to keep his trembling body propped up against the tile wall. His breath came out harsh and he could barely keep his eyes open.

Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up. He helped Bucky support himself against the bathroom wall, despite his rock-hard dick. "Course," Steve said casually, "I always wanted to do that in a  _shower_. But I guess a bathroom is close."

Bucky chuckled breathily. "We  _do_ have a shower at home."

Steve favored him with a warm smile. "You're right. We do."

Bucky smiled. "Could always try that later.. If you still wanted to..."

Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky's. "Of course I do."

A toilet flushed.

Both men froze, eyes wide, staring at each other. They heard awkward footsteps shuffle to the sink, the water turn on, and then the hand dryer. More footsteps. The door closing behind whoever-it-was.

Bucky was terrified for a minute that Steve was going to be mortified and never want to do something like that again.

But as soon as the stranger was safely out of earshot, Steve broke into fits of laughter, covering his mouth to muffle the sound and only mildly succeeding.

Bucky tucked himself back into his pants. "Bet we gave  _that_ guy an earful."

Steve snickered harder into his fist.

Bucky grinned. "You, uh..." He looked Steve up and down. "Want me to return the favor?"

Steve answered once his laughter died down. He shook his head. "Not here." He gave Bucky a heated smirk. "And it wasn't a 'favor.'"

"No? Then what was it then?"

Steve shrugged one shoulder. "Just something I wanted to do." He opened the door to the stall and strode to the sink like he owned the place. 

Bucky stared at his ass. "God bless America," he muttered.


End file.
